


The Language of Silence

by in_deepest_blue



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_deepest_blue/pseuds/in_deepest_blue
Summary: A look into Flora's friendship with the doll-faced ghost.
Kudos: 5





	The Language of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I understand why people find the doll-faced child ghost creepy, but I honestly just wanted to give them a hug! I'll admit, their doll face did unsettle me a bit, but knowing their backstory and how lonely they must've been in that house, I felt heartbroken for him. I actually found it cute that Flora befriended them. I'd like to think that they and Flora played together every now and then, especially when Miles was away at boarding school.
> 
> Also, I do think that there is a lot of power in silence, and that empathy can be as simple as just literally being a silent source of comfort for someone.

“I know you’re in here,” Flora says to the seemingly empty room. “The grown-ups are gone now, so you can come out. I’ve got something to show you!”

Not a peep is heard, until a little child wearing a faded nightdress and a doll for a face hesitantly shuffles out from under Flora’s bed, one of the girl’s stuffed animals clutched in one hand.

Flora enthusiastically shows off an enormous dollhouse. “Ta-da! Look what Uncle Henry got me for my birthday! Isn’t it lovely? It’s s’posed to be this house!” 

The blank-faced child can only nod mutely in response.

“But it’s empty,” Flora continues. “Mummy and Daddy and Uncle Henry said that it means I’ll get more dolls for my next birthdays and the next Christmases, or I can make my own! D’you wanna make some dolls with me? Hannah said she’d teach me, so I can teach you too! We can play with them, an’... an’ make stories about them!”

A nod. “That’s a ‘yes,’ then?” Another nod.

The days turn into weeks. They set about making dolls for each and every resident of the house. “The lady in the attic’s not so bad, but she cries all the time. I do wish she’d be quiet when I’m playing hide-and-seek,” Flora says absent-mindedly, as she smooths out the dress of the doll in her hand. 

She peers over her playmate’s shoulder, watching them at work.

“I don’t think I’ve seen some of these yet,” Flora says, as the doll-faced child glues a felt beard onto a doll. “Is this one a friend?”

The child shrugs.

“Oh. So he’s okay? Not mean, but not really nice?” A meek nod.

“What about this one?” she asks, picking up a stringy-haired doll in white. The child shudders violently.

“Oh… oh no. I’m sorry…”

Flora puts an arm around the child until they stop shaking.

* * *

Opening the door to her room with a shaky hand, Flora walks in sniffling, and finds her doll-faced friend sprawled on his belly, in front of the dollhouse. “Listen,” she begins, trying with all her might not to burst into tears. “We’ve got to keep daddy and mummy’s dolls somewhere else now, ‘cause they’re not coming back anymore…”

Flora sits next to the child, as they sit up, making an awkward attempt at patting the girl’s shoulder. “Thanks,” Flora sniffles.

Silence passes between them, until Flora asks, “Do you remember your mummy and daddy?” 

A shrug, and a shake of the head.

“But do you miss them?”

The child nods emphatically, almost as if its doll face is about to precariously fall off.

“Every day?”

A nod.

“I’m sure they loved you very much, too. An’ I dunno, but maybe they’re in heaven too, like my mummy and daddy, and they’re prolly thinking of you all the time over there.”

The child hugs their knees, looking very much like the poor, vulnerable little thing they were when they first became a permanent resident of the manor. 

“Um, I don’t really have any stories to tell this time. An’... I dunno what to say, and I don’t really wanna think too much right now, ‘cause it hurts. An’ I’m sorry, I always talk too much, but... actually, I don't really wanna talk to anyone right now, not even Miles. So can you just, um… sit with me?”

Again, a nod.

Flora takes the dolls of her parents and clutches them tightly in her tiny hands. Her playmate wordlessly scoots close to her. They sit together in silence—two lost, lonely children trying to navigate the world without an anchor.


End file.
